Weightless
by HookASwan
Summary: Detective Emma Swan returns home to a messy house and a thunderstorm. An anonymous package arrives, with the contents of an elegant rock and beautiful handwriting proclaiming an address and the simple words: I have your son, and all of the answers.
1. Thunderstorm

**THE PACKAGE.**

The dark has already engulfed the night, leaving no stars and just the faint light of the moon in the sky. Clouds are draped over the city, rain beginning to trickle down, and the sound of car horns and high heels are the only things that break the silence.

Emma Swan walks down the pavement, wearing her only red dress and best pair of high heels. Another unsuccessful date, because of her stupid "super power" and being able to tell the guy was a fraud from the start. The rain begins to hit a bit harder, and she holds her sides in order to try and keep a little warm. There's no nice people to help a random stranger in New York City, so an act of kindness is way out of the question.

Moving to her apartment complex, she climbed the steps in haste. There was a box at the neighbors door she didn't really pay attention to, and she stumbled to unlock her door. The hallway was nice and warm, but she was cold and really wanting a shower and maybe something to eat. Emma used her shoulder to nudge the door open, since she needed to oil the hinges or something. The lock seemed like it was started to give way, it took her too long to get her key out.

As usual, the television had been left on. Socks were on the couch, a mud track on the carpet from her son. Couch cushions were messed up, the lamp out of place. He had left to spend the night at a friend's, and he left the house a mess as usual. These were tell-tell signs that he let that friend inside the house and they did things they weren't supposed to. Like usual. Feeling too exhausted to really do much, Emma kicked her shoes off and curled up under the throw pillow and watched a rerun of Friends.

Until she opened her eyes.

She was in the forest, laying on the ground in a ball, completely covered in dirt and twigs. Her hair was thrown about, like she'd been in a tornado, and there was a huge hole in the tree next to her. She could hear voices, voices calling her name. She could see figures in the distance, the gleam of metal, but faces were too blurry to make out who they were or why they could be there.

Emma had had this dream a million times, and a million times she would never find the location of who those people were. But, at the same time, she felt like it was someone she knew. Someone from her past… but she didn't know. She couldn't put her finger on it. They were nobody from her foster care program, and definitely not her parents.

Lord knows where they were.

Jolting awake to a roll of thunder, she wakes to sweat and a sticky blanket and dress. Making a disgusted face, she clicks the T.V off and clambers up off of the couch. Her phone read 24% battery and four in the morning, meaning she'd slept for over two hours. No wonder she smelled like she'd bathed in…

Okay, you need to stop thinking, Emma.

She gathers up her things, deposits them into the bathroom, and quickly pulls her hair into a bun. The water is only lukewarm as she takes her shower, jumping at every roll of thunder. There's no sounds from her.

The steam fogs up the mirror. The night turns silent. The lights in the apartment flicker, and then go out, causing Emma to curse loudly.

Stepping out and onto the mat, she pulls the towel around her and turns off the water. Its pitch black in her bathroom, but she has scented candles scattered everywhere and all she'd need is a lighter.

Moving into the hallway and then into the kitchen, she scrambles to open up drawer after drawer to find the lighter. The first one she finds, a Scorpio-clad Bik, is out of juice. The second, a plain orange one, lights fine.

As she is about to light a beautiful smelling cinnamon apple candle, leaning over the counter in order to do so, the lights flick back on. This causes her to drop the candle, shattering the glass and making the wax spread throughout the entire bathroom. She hisses, jumping back in time to avoid getting glass shards in her feet. And she gives up.

Taking her clothes to her room, she quickly dries and dresses, and raids the fridge for something to eat. There was leftover Subway, and it's the only thing that really looks that good, when she hears the doorbell ring.

"Who the Hell-?" She whispers, looking over at the clock which now read 5:07 AM. Emma narrows her eyes, setting the sandwich on the table on a plate, calling that she'd be there in a second.

Unlocking the door, pulling the chain back, she opened the door to nothing. There was nobody either way of the hallway, nobody standing in front of her. When she steps out, her foot almost goes through a small box on the floor.

A pretty box, maybe five inches by four, wrapped in gorgeous blue wrapping paper with a white ribbon, and scrawled in elegant handwriting was "Emma Eva Swan" on a scrap of paper. And she freezes.

Nobody knew her middle name. Nobody in New York besides her son.

Emma took the package inside, placing it next to her sandwich, and stared at it for a very, very long time. Hours actually ticked by, as she contemplated and thought who could've sent her this almost Victorian looking present, who knew her middle name and where she lived.

Nobody came to mind.

Taking all of her courage, putting it into her will to untie the ribbon, she picks apart the delicate box and takes off the top.

Only a stone sat inside. It was shimmering in the light, looking like several rainbows were in a metallic frame. Engraved was the word STORYBROOKE in the same elegant script, and a piece of paper at the bottom of the package.

_**199 Water St #2800, New York, NY 10038.  
I have your son and all the answers.**_


	2. Phone Calls

It took a very long time for the note to sink in.

Emma stared at the slip of paper for much too long, deliberated absent-mindedly as she ate. She had to be rational about this. This could be an elaborate prank from a coworker who looked up her name in the data base. This could be nothing; maybe they're waiting to tell her when she gets to work.

The ink isn't fresh.

At the same time, nobody wrote that fancy. No body but the Queen of England.

The sketchiness of the situation made her panic. It set off her instincts, making her think about kidnapping and making her scared more and more. She felt like she should know who would do this, but she didn't know. She couldn't think of anyone who would want to hurt her or her son.

Emma got dressed. She brushed her hair and teeth, turned off the television, put on her precious red jacket and drove. She needed to ease her mind. She knew she should call work and file a case, but she wasn't even sure if this was an actual thing or not. If she knew, that'd make it easier. But, since she didn't, she didn't want to file anything phony. She didn't go into work until ten, two and a half hours away. School started in ten minutes, and that was where she was going. To school.

If she lost Henry…

It all took her back. To when she was set up, put in jail, and left by the love of her life, just to find out she was holding his child. Back to where she almost gave him up, having convinced herself that without parents she would never know how to raise a son. Until Ne—

Emma slammed on her brakes, running a red light at the last minute. The camera flashed, and she put her head down onto the steering wheel. Being on the force herself, she knew that would be a ticket and most likely a hefty lecture from the boss. She looked up, put the bug in hear, and pulled over.

Emma dialed in her partner.

"This is Bradley," the voice pierced in, deep and off-putting. He sounded groggy with sleep.

"Hey, Evan," she murmured, her own voice wavering as if on the verge of tears. Perhaps she was. "Won't be in today. I, uh, Henry's got bronchitis. It's pretty bad, I'm taking him in. I also ran a red light, sorry."

She could hear the gruff laugh of the older man, and could picture him rolling his eyes and shaking his head. "Oh, Emma. Gary's going to have your head one of these days,"

"Don't tell him this time."

"Fine. Thanks for letting me know. Keep me updated," click. It was done before Emma could say no.

She gritted her teeth, turning the car back on and switching stations until she could find something alternative and nice, something calming but still within her taste range. Swan closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and pulled back onto the highway. It was approximately fifteen minutes until she could get to the school, and she could talk to the office to see if her son had actually made it to his first hour class.

She made no sound, did not sing or talk and barely breathed. She was shaking, nervous, knowing that if he wasn't there that could easily mean anything. That'd mean she'd have no other choice but to get Henry back. When she blinked, she saw his silhouette dance behind her eyelids. It made knots in her stomach, made her face red.

If they even had Henry. She had to stay optimistic about this. Looking on the dark side of things makes it possible. She shouldn't do that.

That's when her phone rang. Glancing over to the passenger's seat where she had set it, the phone jingled and a blocked number shined on the screen. Fumbling around to get a good grip on the steering wheel but still grabbing the cell, she looked over for a split second to answer.

"Hello?" Emma breathed, her eyes darting around to make sure no police were anywhere nearby. She'd thought she'd seen an unmarked Chevy about a mile back, and she was making sure it wasn't following her. Clearing her throat, she spoke again. "Who is this?"

"Hello, Ms. Swan," a formal, female voice spoke through the static, sounding calm and collected but menacing, like she knew she was superior to those around her. The voice had an air of nonchalance, making Emma want to punch her for being so ignorant. Didn't this woman know her son had just been taken? Didn't she know that today was not the day to be calling for meaningless chit-chat?

_Of course she doesn't,_ Emma thought.

"Who is this?" She repeated, pulling over for the second time that day. A Denny's was on her right and the high school on her left, and she glued her eyes to the front doors.

Completely disregarding her question for the second time, the woman spoke. "I want you to go to that address I sent you! I think it might answer some questions. I know every little thing about you, even the things you don't." There was a chuckle that made Emma's heart stop, her mouth hanging open. "I just want you to see what I know, and know that everything will be okay. If you listen to what I say."

"What do you want? I'll pay your ransom… I just want my son back," Emma's chest was congested and she knew she sounded as if she was going to cry, knew that she sounded so miserable and was fighting herself. Her inner voice told her that it was weak to show such emotion to a stranger.

"He's not your son."

"Excuse me?" She responded automatically, not allowing herself to even register what the terrorist had said.

"He's not your son. In fact, he's mine. Now, I want you to go to that address. I want you to see. I want you to come to me. Or, your son will die."

"Who are you?" Emma whispered, hands shaking as she looked at the slip of paper in her sun visor.

"A little thing called Evil."

* * *

It was another gorgeous day in Maine. A perfect day to sit on the harbor and look out into the marvelous blue sea laying before him, a perfect day to just sit and think about everything. About what had happened. About how he got there.

Breathing out in a puff of smoke, he could smell the spiced rum on his breathe and he smirked a signature, heart catching smirk. One that wooed the ladies back where he came from, back when he was innocent and not the conniving pirate he was today.

Killian Jones decided to be daring, and took off his boots and socks to dip his toes into the water. It was a perfect temperature, and summer in Maine made it blind him as the ripples moved around his foot. His good hand reached up to move hair out of his face, and he leaned back a bit, relaxing and becoming carefree, watching a flock of Canadian Geese flying overhead.

He could hear them before he could see them, their feet moving in perfect unison, shaking the dock with each step. A strike of pain crossed his face and he closed his eyes, wanting to avoid seeing the faces that resembled hers most.

"Hook?" The petite woman, not so petite now, asked with caution. He must've looked as if he didn't want to be bothered, which was precisely it. He didn't. Their request had yet to be granted, and he was downright scared he wouldn't be able to do it at all.

"What is it, darling?" He responded in his gruff voice, sitting back up and looking over his shoulder. The pregnant woman had one hand on her sweater-clad stomach, the other entwined with those of the man standing beside her who tensed at his endearing nickname. The King and Queen of Storybrooke, with the oven full. He sighed, almost longingly, as his eyes lingered on the Queen's face a little too long.

"Have you found a way yet?" The King, David, asked. It was still odd to hear his voice address him, as it was obvious their kind did not mix well. David and his wife, Mary Margaret, were very dear to him if only because he was in love with the product of their true love.

"Not yet," he stated firmly, looking away.

"Maybe it's for the best she doesn't come back," Mary Margaret interjected. And that made him pull his socks and boots back on and stand. He took a swig of the burning alcohol, and hissed.

"No. I think she needs back. We need her." He spoke rough, defensively, and David chuckled.

"Why?" He asked, brows scrunched. "She's happy with her son in New York. It's better if she doesn't know."

That's when Killian turned to face her father, eyes bloodshot.

"You asked me to get her back, and I gave my word. I'm bloody good on my word, and you of all people know that if you don't need her, then I do. I need Emma."


	3. The Lightship Ambrose

The Lightship Ambrose, now open for visitors during the day, was dank and dark and wet during the night. It didn't help that the ship had been closed for a few months due to malfunctions and low staff, which only gave it a creepier feeling to Emma as she walked up the ramp. Having driven by the address that morning after her ominous phone call, she was able to observe the fact that the doors were boarded up and signs were everywhere. A hammer in hand, she was determined to change that.

"Here goes," she murmured to the air, sliding her badge to the side of her pants so if any onlooker got the urge to call the police, they'd realize that the police were the one doing the job. Lifting the hammer, she gave herself a few good seconds before swinging and knocking a huge dent into the wood.

She bounced back some, then went for a different angle. She reached up, taking the back of the hammer and prying all of the nails she could out, hit it again, and made a hole big enough for her to crawl through. Emma sighed, reaching to her jacket beside her and replacing the hammer with a flashlight and pistol, positioning them professionally on her hand and wrist, before sliding in.

For a place normally open for business, the Ambrose did not look very inviting. Spiders had begun to inhabit it, there was a hole near the back with tape around it, and plastic strewn over the artifacts recovered from previous lightships.

Emma turned a corner as her phone vibrated, but she ignored the call. She was amazed at what was hanging from the ceiling – pieces of paper with writing and pictures, things that looked like it was from a fairytale book. Emma looked around the opening of the ship, then lowered her gun and put it down. She pulled down three pieces of paper.

_Once upon a time . . ._ it read_, in a great castle, a Prince's daughter grew up happy and contented, in spite of a jealous stepmother. She was very pretty, with blue eyes and long black hair. Her skin was delicate and fair, and so she was called Snow White._

Snow White? Who did this person think she was, a kid? She wasn't going to stand for this… but why would this woman post the pictures here if there wasn't a hidden message in it?

_"Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the loveliest lady in the land?" The reply was always; "You are, your Majesty," until the dreadful day when she heard it say, "Snow White is the loveliest in the land." _Emma had read this story time and time again, always drawn to it. There was nothing special about this… until she kept reading every word from every page, until the end of the corridor, leading to the back exit.

The three pages shocked her.

The first two, just words, weren't significant at all. But the photo…

_And thus, Snow White put their beloved child into the tree carved to take the baby to a safe land. This will surely save her from The Evil Queen's curse._

_Prince Charming, with his dying breath, held his wife's hand and closed his eyes, for their baby girl would be safe._

The picture was a little baby girl with a blanket, a blue and white one, with Emma scrawled in delicate sewn writing. The exact same one she'd been found in, with, and still had.

Emma stared at this picture for a long while, until her phone vibrated once more and she automatically answered.

"Who are you and how did you manipulate this place?"

"Woah, there, Swan," Bradley's voice chimed in. "Watching an action movie or something?"

Emma took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. She needed to get calm, and get calm quick. "Uh… yeah. Yeah, just a movie. Paused it now. What's up?"

"I said I was going to stay in touch. How's Henry?" Evan's voice was obviously concerned, which Emma appreciated. He was the perfect partner, in two senses. She didn't want to delve too much. "He's good, fine. He is sick, like I thought. Sleeping now. I'll be out of the field for a few days. Could you tell the boss for me?"

"Rachel ain't gonna like it. You've been out a bit already." It sounded like he scoffed. Asshole.

"Whatever," _click_. If there was anything Emma didn't want to put up with, it was her annoying coworker and his condescending loyal lapdog voice. Reaching to each little clip, Emma carefully pulled the pages down, every single one, and climbed back out of the Ambrose. She made sure there were no prints, then she stumbled into her old yellow bug and drove away.

* * *

Unfortunately, Hook didn't realize that his snapping was not understood by David, whose face became streaked with confusion. Of course he didn't understand, how could he? Hook hadn't told anyone of his predicament. He hadn't told anyone of a certain someone's plan to get Emma back to Storybrooke, and end this.

Once, and for all.

Now, standing in this huge city of glimmering lights and vehicles Killian had come to terms with as cars, he realized that he had no idea where he was, let alone where to find Swan in this ginormous town of magic. Well, not magic. But, it seemed like magic.

He walked along the roads for a long time, hiding his faulty arm, the other out in a hitchhikers thumb like he'd witnessed on television. Several cars stopped for just a moment, but not long enough to let him in, teasing him and his search for Emma. This infuriated Hook, but he didn't let the emotion show.

Giving up, he continued down, holding his coat close to him. He walked through the city, mind in the gutter, until he noticed the yellow bug driving down the road in front of him looked unmistakably like hers. It had the same dent in the back above the license plate that Hook knew much too well. And it was parked in front of a marvelous lightship that he'd only seen in books in Belle's library. It was gorgeous, and he was beyond jealous of it.

But… why was she there? What importance did this ship have to Emma?

His heart skipped a beat as an impossible idea crept into mind that he quickly discarded. She. She didn't remember them. She couldn't possibly feel like it had to do with anything –

Wait. What was she carrying?

Emma Swan had exited the Lightship Ambrose, carrying a big pile of papers in her hands as she shoved them into the back of her car. He was stunned to see the absolute horror on his face, the streaks of mascara and eyeliner running down her cheeks. It pulled his stomach into knots, and his fingers moved around the vial of memory potion in his pocket. Taking all of his courage into one little burst of strength, he made his approach, trying to remember he was a stranger.

"Hello, there, love," he remarked immediately, leaning on the passenger's side of the Bug. Swan jumped, staring wide eyed up at him. "I'm a bit lost… think I could get a ride to the nearest hotel?"

"I don't think so…" She murmured, obviously cautious of strangers. Her shock was quickly veiled by a look of curiosity in his stature. Like she was questioning why he looked the way he did. Which she wouldn't understand.

He threw her a smirk, one that usually let him get his way with her. But she was a rock tonight. "Please? I'm so new to the area. Nobody has been kind to me here."

Emma seemed to contemplate the idea a little bit, humoring herself.

"Please?" He asked one more time, and she unlocked the door.

* * *

_**Hi everyone ! I'm terribly sorry about the late update, I've been seriously lazy. I'm hoping to update faster, especially when I get over this laziness that has consumed me! I hope you like this addition. uwu. - K.**_


	4. Ice On The Center Console

_What are you doing?_

The ride was unusually quiet to Emma. Then again, she refused to turn the radio on in case this stranger didn't exactly have the same taste in music as she did, or had some weird mental thing where certain rhythms made him go on a rampage. Which was highly unlikely, but still possible.

Emma also refused to talk, because if this man was accomplicing with the woman who took her son, she would give away any information she might know, thus putting Henry and herself in even more danger. Therefore, she couldn't win.

However, the mysterious man continued a feeble attempt to try and make chit chat. He tried to talk about the weather, made comments about the cars that went by, and even tried to initiate the license plate game, all with no success. Emma, however, was growing more and more irritated by him and his remarks, and she was about one stop light away from punching him in the face.

_This is so stupid and dangerous. You can't honestly think that this man isn't going to hurt you, right?_

That is, until he said something that caught her attention, kept it, and he knew he said something wrong: "You look just like your mother when you're irritated."

"Excuse you?" She murmured, glancing over at him and then back at the road. She was able to notice the redness of his face, and he definitely, definitely realised he said something wrong.

"I… I mean, I uh…" He couldn't find words, and Emma furrowed her brow. The light turned red, and so she turned to him and scrutiny covered her eyes, hiding any emotion she may be feeling.

"Who are you?" Emma Swan asked, and she was serious. Beyond serious. This man was becoming increasingly frustrating and maybe even terrifying. He bit his lip and looked around wildly. "Ryan..?" He spoke, stretching the word out, as if uncertain.

"Ryan Knight."

He was lying. Emma could feel it, she was using her stupid super power. It just sort of happened all the time, and this time it was coming in handy. He was lying. But she wouldn't bring that up now.

"And how do you know my mother?" The light had turned green, and she pulled into a parking lot, turning off the bug and watching him closer.

"We… went to school together," another lie.

"Where did you go to school?"

"Storybrooke High," another lie. But… Storybrooke?

_Storybrooke. That woman... oh my God. _

"Wait. You live in Storybrooke?" But, before she could get an answer, there was another important thing that was being mentioned. Her phone lit up with a blocked number, and the words, "ARE U COMING, MISS SWAN?"

"Well, in a way. I know people in Storybrooke… why?"

_This is stupid. You're being stupid, Emma Eva Swan! Don't do this!_

_But... you know you'd do anything right now to get Henry back. _

_Even if that means that this guy could kill you in the blink of an eye. _

_...You have to do this, Swan. For Henry. This guy seems tough, he might be able to back you up._

"I need to go there. Now. Ryan, and I know that's not your name, how well do you know Storybrooke?"

* * *

Emma knew this was the most reckless thing to do. She didn't even know this man, the one who was spitting lies so cooly from between his teeth. She left a voicemail to Bradley, and immediately went on the highway with him in tow. Yes, she didn't know him. But he obviously knew her.

He began talking, explaining Storybrooke, and holding a vial in his hand that looked like some stupid way to hold a shot of moonshine. At least, it looked like moonshine. He kept trying to hand it to her, but she kept refusing. If it was alcohol, that stuff was strong and she sure as Hell was not going to take it with a stranger and while driving. She was smarter than that. Kinda.

Honestly, her instinct was to go after the son that had been taken away from her. She would do it in any way possible, even if that put her own life in danger in order to get him home to her. Henry was her world; and whoever took him away from her was going to pay.

That's when she crossed the New York/Vermont border, and her little Volkswagen Bug was making new noises – low on gas. This was great. Fantastic. The signs on the side of the road mentioned a Chevron about four miles away from the freeway exit, so she took it. And just barely made it to the pump, too.

"You, stay." Emma demanded, and 'Ryan' raised one arm in compliance. Emma had still not asked about his other, more sacred arm. She unlocked the car, and with only cash in her center console, walked up to the cashier in a smooth, unwavering, everything-is-perfectly-normal stride. She grabbed two Pepsi's and a bag of chips, paid for that and the gas, and continued on her journey to Maine.

* * *

It was four in the morning when Emma had no other choice but to pull into a hotel in the highest corner of New Hampshire, even with another three hour drive ahead of her. She couldn't see the road, had almost been pulled over by another officer, and 'Ryan' had passed out sometime during the last two hours in the passenger's seat. The hunky-doory hotel was just off the highway, not exactly five-star – not like she could afford it, anyway.

When her attempts to nudge her companion awake failed, she drove to the back of the hotel and left him in a locked car, pushing the seat back as far as possible. She even tossed one of her sweatshirts on him as a blanket for good measure.

Emma wasn't exactly coherent when she asked to stay in the cheapest room they had, and bunked out in some ratty old apartment-looking place with one bed and a phone on a nightstand and no shower. When she was awake, and in Storybrooke, she'd find a nicer place to stay.

* * *

Hook woke up almost completely upside down, in a confined space, with a grey shirt that smelled like sweet, yet poisonous perfume. He recognized it as Emma's, the one she always used that he had caught a glimpse of and had come in closer contact with than this.

He took the hem in between his fingers, pulled it to his nose, and took a small sniff at it. The smell was alluring, and it reminded him of summer nights.

_...Emma?_

Placing the sweatshirt in the back seat, he sat up and stretched, attempting to crack his back but failing to do so. The sun had risen, the car was empty, and the doors were locked. He fumbled with it for a second, found the lock, and undid it so he could step out.

The building the car was parked behind looked like it'd been there for millennia. The back wall was covered in dirt and mud, and very vaguely on the back door he could read BATES on it. Thank God it was Bates HOTEL, not Bates MOTEL.

Killian Jones was a television fanatic. He blamed Mary Margaret and Ruby for that one.

Sauntering out and around the railing, he found the front door and walked into a much more pleasant looking lobby – the walls were painted a pastel yellow, with white lining and small specks of cream mixed into the walls. The ceiling was cream as well, with black hanging lights and a ceiling fan. A man stood behind a counter to Hook's right, and he politely asked if an Emma Swan had checked in and what room she was in.

Before he got an answer, he saw her coming up the stairs, hair matted and looking like she'd been caught in a hurricane. She ordered him to go, and they were off again.

For an excruciating hour and a half, they sat in mostly silence. Only, Emma had finally decided to turn the radio onto a classic rock station, but the volume was down low. The pedal was almost down on the ground, and when Killian saw the speed limit and what she was doing, he frowned and tried to get her to slow down.

"You're acting like you're running away!" He shouted, and he was right. Her knuckles had turned white, she was chewing her lips was going well over eighty. If another cop had been around, she would have gotten pulled over twenty miles ago.

"I'm not running away," the look in her eyes was of terror and determination.

"What's in Storybrooke, Emma?"

"My son!" She yelled, but then cowered into her jacket as she let off the gas, pulling passed the Maine border.

"… Someone took Henry?" Dangit, Jones! You did it again! He covered his mouth, but Emma didn't seem to notice that she hadn't told him her son's name. She nodded, face white.

"How far away is Storybrooke from here?"

* * *

_**Ugh I really don't like this chapter unu. I'm sorry guys! I threw in thoughts at the last second to try and make it sound better... But I'll try to make up for it soon. I hope you enjoyed it, anyway.! - K**_


End file.
